


rock bottom

by w4st3d4u



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Drugs, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Unrequited Love, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w4st3d4u/pseuds/w4st3d4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>michael needs someone and luke has a boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rock bottom

**Author's Note:**

> i took a while,
> 
> songs that inspired this:
> 
> emo - blink-182 | rock bottom - modern baseball | the feud - the front bottoms | going away to college - blink-182 | drunk - ed sheeran | re-done - modern baseball | tattooed tears - the front bottoms | sex - the 1975 | and largely, hours outside in the snow by modern baseball.

an old sketch, faded ink tracing his profile from the age of sixteen, lines curling on his lips and lashes, softening around his eyes and his collarbones. in the process of capturing his face, michael had put in all of the flourishes, the shadows on his face and the discolored patches around his jaw.

 

it was stunning.

 

luke might have forgotten how to breathe.

 

-

 

the next week, all luke could see were the black, inky lines, imagining michael tracing them over and over each other or staying out on his balcony late at night, after luke had crawled down the tree he jumped from to land on the metal expanse connecting to the house.

 

michael always stayed out there and wrote.

 

that's why, up until about year ago, he'd always smell like dew and rain and wet grass.

 

luke had always had those twists of hope or longing for the older boy, pushed them down because it would have been weird to say something. for luke, the youngest, to force ashton into his mindset, it was hard.

 

they'd been wasting all these years pretending on both sides like they were just friends.

 

-

 

**_[age fifteen]_ **

 

michael was drunk again.

 

he spun around his empty, dirty room, stumbling and falling against the wall. there were tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he smiled weakly and took another swig of whiskey. michael's mind fell back to earlier today, luke writhing under ashton's hands as they made out on the couch of luke's garage. michael had walked in, looking for his electric guitar, and saw them, and - _fuck_.

 

it felt like he was having a nightmare, and he couldn't move, couldn't scream - he just had to keep walking into the room and his face went slate-blank but _oh fuck_ michael's mouth was so dry and he wanted to jump off a fucking bridge. he let out a sad laugh, running his hands through his hair as he let fall tears that ran into the crevice right above his lip.

 

and for some reason, michael heard luke opening the door from his balcony. he didn't even care that luke would see him like this, plastered and pathetic, sitting on the floor with a bottle of jack daniels in his hand.

 

"mike?" luke called.

 

he was so disoriented and he heard luke's voice to his right, whipping around to search for the blonde haired boy, seeming frantic until he caught sight of luke and relaxed against the wall again.

 

"i'm in love," michael said with a grin on his face, completely contradicting the teardrops running down his cheeks as he held up the jack daniels, which was sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

 

"shit," luke swore, walking over to the older boy and immediately putting the whiskey on a shelf.

 

"no," michael drawled softly, reaching up for the alcohol. "no, please, i - i need it."

 

"why?" luke asked, smoothing over the hair of his best friend.

 

"no amount of aspirin or pizza could help this from hurting," he slurs, burying his face into luke's chest, a pained expression passing over his features as his eyes shut.

 

"why are you hurting?"

 

"because i'm in love."

 

"love feels good, though."

 

"not this kind, luke," michael told him.

 

-

 

"michael, why do you have so much sex?" luke questioned the older when they were sharing a room, rolling over on his side to find michael facing the same way across the room in the dark space.

 

"i just want to feel loved for a while," he responds, voice scratchy. 

 

luke doesn't ask why he says that, because he loves them, but luke knows what he means. luke knows because he's tried with ashton, and it's worked, it just never felt right. it was never right.

 

"you love ashton, don't you?" michael throws back a question just as loaded to luke. luke has to swallow down the other answer pooling under his tongue like saliva.

 

"i guess i should."

 

"you guys have been together for years, though. what do you mean that you guess?"

 

"being with someone for a long time doesn't mean you love them," luke settles.

 

-

 

that was the night before luke saw it.

 

michael had gone out, and luke was sleeping alone in a bed with one side cold, and luke was fucking sick of acting like he wanted ashton's dick in him all the time, because he didn't, and he was also sick of acting like he didn't want michael all over him, all for himself, to kiss and to love and to do everything with. it was just sitting next to michael's laptop in his backpack after luke had gone looking for a t-shirt to wear since his were all dirty (and he liked how soft and baggy michael's shirts were on him.) ( _he had a feeling michael fancied that too._ )

 

and he'd pulled it out, and a few hours later michael came back, and michael saw luke staring at it, and michael had gone red, and michael made a noise and luke shoved it right back in.

 

that night, right before luke falls off, michael says, "i hope you liked it."

 

-

 

they're on the bus. it's cramped and no one else is there and neither of them know how they got from listening to seahaven in a bunk to breathing on each other's lips, maybe a silent game of chicken or something, but michael finally slides his fingers into the hair at the nape of luke's neck and their legs are tangled and there are goosebumps on their arms but michael leans in anyways.

 

luke's been fucking killing himself over this moment coming true and some way or another it is, and he's too busy kissing michael to think about anything else. both of them are pulling each other closer and sliding their tongues against one another soft and slow but michael's lips might as well be candy-coated because luke's frenching the older boy like there's no tomorrow.

 

it's everything they've ever wanted; messy hair, soft mouths, eyelashes brushing on cheeks. it feels _absolutely_ real, so much that it scares them a little bit, but that also doesn't matter. luke just thinks, "fuck it", since nothing can possibly get worse than cheating on his boyfriend of three years, and he just lets the music get louder in his ears while he falls into michael, throat closing up as his heart swells.

 

-

 

a while later, michael's in luke's bunk again, and the bus is empty again, and the music is so loud it almost gives them a headache. and this time, luke's pulling off his sweatpants.

 

"are you sure?" michael asks, curling his hand in the blonde's hair.

 

" _fuck_ \- yeah, can you just - can you do something?" luke swears, arching his back as michael's palm brushes his hard-on. michael nods, pulling down luke's boxers. his fingers are being sucked on, and he spreads luke's mile-long legs, holding his cock in one hand while removing his fingers, coated in saliva, from his mouth.

 

"you've done this before, right?"

 

luke nods, breath hitching when michael rubs his hand up the length of his cock and grazes the slit with his thumb. michael pushes luke's legs even farther apart, slipping both fingers in at once, making luke whimper a bit. the older boy's face turns upset and is about to apologize when luke stops him, panting softly, not nearly able to have been heard if the two hadn't been at such close proximity.

 

"it's - i'm.... oh god."

 

michael's eyes go lax around the edges as luke's chest rises and falls; luke presses his palm to the (somewhat) ceiling about two feet above them as michael pushes the hair out of his eyes, but freezes a little as he realizes that this is going to become too domestic, and he's going to initiate more feelings, and things will be messy when they'll eventually be forced to break it off. so he settles for clutching luke's hair at the roots, pulling his head back to expose his throat - vulnerable.

 

it doesn't feel as good as it did to have his fingertips spark on luke's skin, but it made luke cry out in ecstasy when he slipped his fingers out and strained them back in, to the knuckle this time as he strokes inside of the younger boy to push against his prostate. the tears coming out of luke's eyes as he cries out michael's name makes michael forget for a moment that he's probably going to end up just another warm body to sleep on the other side of the bed.

 

-

 

uncommanded, luke tosses michael's lighter one night, rummaging through his shit. deciding against it, he maneuvers his way through the trash to fish it out. it's white with a couple doodles scribbled on the sides, he's seen michael light bongs with it, seen michael light joints with it, seen michael light cigarettes with it and known that he used it to hurt himself too, held it to his ankles and wrists and hips, the familiarity of it is striking, having been in michael's pockets and bags, it's always been there. just to be safe, luke keeps it.

 

-

 

"can i give you a blowjob?" luke asks one night, another hotel room and michael breaths in so sharply he almost chokes.

 

once he regains his sense of self, michael's world settles in around him, but not hard. like they just trickled into their places, cold water seeping into his pores.

 

michael hates cold water.

 

"n- no. no you can't, you have a boyfriend and you maybe love him and- no," michael is resisting an urge so great that it swallows him whole ( _pun not intended_ ), and it's even harder when luke's body is stinging into his side, consciously recognizing and counting the spots where they touch in his head as he waits for an answer.

 

"michael... you fingered me," luke eventually surfaces, blue eyes burning into the side of michael's face.

 

"that's- it's different. if you give me a blowjob then you're going to be to blame. me fingering you is different than you, like, sucking me off," michael tries to tell luke.

 

"it's cheating," michael swallows.

 

the heaviness of that statement nearly crushes luke, and the little sob that escapes luke's lips makes michael feel bad, like really bad, almost guilty, for making the younger boy au courant to what he's been doing.

 

"i'm sorry," he whispers in this broken, upset voice to michael, still looking at him.

 

"it's my fault, luke," michael mutters. "just go to sleep."

 

"if i'm gonna cheat, though, we might as well be fair," luke mumbles. michael loses at that moment. loses their small argument, loses his fucking mind.

 

he's gone.

 

seeing luke later, between michael's thighs, cock all the way down his throat, red cheeks and glassy eyes staring up at the older boy through his blonde lashes and the soft pieces of hair falling into his view, definitely does not help.

 

-

 

they're even.

 

everything is hazy when he wakes up, all a little disoriented when he feels the uncomfortable rub of his sweatpants too high on his leg and luke's heavy mouth on the spread of his chest. he's still dozing, wet, swollen lips exhaling every so often. it's good, for a few moments until he realizes he's got his fingers tangled with luke's, and no- _stop it_.

 

things are supposed to be anything but romantic, but luke isn't helping, and luke still has a boyfriend, and it sucks even more that luke has a boyfriend because he's laying on michael's chest and they slot together like a lock and key. michael also keeps holding luke's hand until he wakes up, and then luke's hand is in his hair while they kiss.

 

as michael is completely overcome with luke, ( _it's only ever been luke; for as long as he can remember_ ) he pulls him down and drinks in everything he can get, soft brushes of their noses and knees knocking together.

 

it is everything he could ever ask for.

 

-

 

a week later, in a different hotel room, in a different city, michael lays alone in the cutting freeze, heat off and the blankets shoved to the floor next to him while he lays motionless on the bed in luke's shirt.

 

michael can still feel his skin everywhere, his hands on the back of michael's neck and his tongue on michael's thighs.

 

ashton is fucking him next door.

 

-

 

michael has officially shut down.

 

he looks the worst he's ever been when this happens, dry lips cracking, chapped. his skin is blotchy and he hasn't changed out of his rumpled outfit since four days ago, and thank god their break in started at just the right time for him to wallow in his sadness and depression.

 

it was that morning where calum wanted to say something, starting with, "luke wants to know if you're okay."

 

michael suddenly bursts into tears in front all of them, something that's extremely rare, his eyes clouding over with anger and what everyone except luke can interpret as plain upsetness, while luke sees what no one else does.

 

betrayal.

 

"i'm not okay, actually. would you like to know why?" michael asks, sounding almost hateful towards the youngest boy.

 

"so, this guy sucked me off, right? and we'd kissed before, you know. i fingered him. i thought he fucking cared about me. and then you know what happened? after telling me that he didn't love his boyfriend, he goes right back and fucks him. it's obvious to me now that he used me just for his own benefit; and honestly, i'd be flattered if it wasn't for the fact that he's a filthy fucking liar."

 

calum and ashton exhibit sympathy, offering apologies to make him feel better. 

 

luke just stares at him and clenches his jaw, tears pooling in his eyes. michael stares right back, his irises shifting from the dull gray they'd been the whole week to a deep, murky blue.

 

"what's up with luke?" calum tests carefully.

 

"oh, nothing," michael's voice cracks with emotion. "he's probably angry because he's really close with that guy. they're practically the same person. pissed off 'cause i said the truth he doesn't want to hear."

 

-

 

michael knows that what he said was out of line.

 

way out of line.

 

not that calum and ashton really notice, or care, and it only matters to luke and michael anyways. he wanted those words to hurt. he wanted them to hurt as much as the soft, open-mouthed promise of " _tomorrow night, michael_. always us." the question still a whisper into the hair behind his ear.

 

of course, "tomorrow night" turned into michael lying alone, while luke begged ashton to screw him into the mattress in the room next to him.

 

and so luke answers his own question; it hasn't always been them. it never was.

 

it's always been just michael.

 

it's always been just michael sitting alone in his bunk, it's always been just michael drinking all the tomorrow nights away. just... _michael_.

 

-

 

michael hasn't eaten in about a week.

 

a sense of relief starts to wash over luke, who is silently watching, unknown to michael, as the older boy opens the fridge.

 

michael takes one look in it, grabs a bottle of water, and slams the door shut.

 

"you should eat something," luke says awkwardly, his words are too small to fill the gap between his voice and complete understanding that michael won't anyways.

 

he doesn't know why, but it bothers him.

 

later, he looks up the side effects of depression.

 

yes, michael's been sleeping even more than he usually does, and he's lost an appetite, he's more irritable than usual, and the only time he left the house between a week's interval is to get five more bottles of gin. luke knows michael used to be like this a few years ago; at fifteen and sixteen it was less painful seeing michael drown himself in his parent's wine when he offered up a crooked smile beforehand.

 

he'd never mentioned how michael's eyes were always a dead giveaway to the fact that this wasn't the first or the last time, but it's harder for him to grasp now.

 

this time, he almost can't do anything about it, and michael isn't even trying to hide anything behind his mask. michael's gone and laid himself out on the table again.

 

luke realizes, after ashton announces that he's going on a week-long camping trip with calum, that he's never once turned michael down. and this time, he definitely doesn't plan on doing so.

 

-

 

once again, they're entangled on luke's bed. michael's not sure why he ever went in there to say sorry, but he knows that it's been something to say. he doesn't ever end up actually saying the words, luke spots him walking in and this time, there's no turning back.

 

luke had him pinned down on the mattress only seconds after he'd stepped foot in the room, the lights are off and fuck, without even talking to each other they're making out again, and michael melts under luke. he's gotten better at realizing that it's luke he's kissing, because it dawns on him that being with luke isn't just an idea anymore; michael's been trying to act like he's just another one night stand so that his feelings don't get hurt when luke goes back to ashton ( _since it is mostly inevitable by now_ ).

 

he grows accustomed to the hot, velvety-wet inside of luke's mouth and the sweet slide of their lips together, against each other.

 

and he bites luke's lip.

 

he hitches a leg around luke's waist and rakes his nails down luke's back, the younger crying out at the pain. he loves how their bodies move against each other and he loves how luke pants against the side of his neck while he brings his hips up to luke's, rutting their cocks together.

 

it feels so much more intense in a submissive position when luke, thighs spread and open, straddling michael's waist, takes control of michael, lacing their fingers together and holding them above his head, his elbows digging into michael's bony ones.

 

"luke," michael moans out, voice almost effeminate as he breathes softly into the neck of a boy who isn't his, chokes on his own words while this boy kisses him into oblivion, their eyelashes flitting against one another as if this isn't worse than just fucking.

 

the intimacy of this, michael giving himself away all because of a press of their lips together, overwhelms him.

 

it is enchanting.

 

-

 

things get a lot less magical when ashton calls luke in the middle of their- in the middle of their whatever-it-is. luke looks at michael like a sorry puppy that's just been yelled at for chewing on his owner's shoes. michael stays where he is, laying and looking up at the ceiling. the young boy's a little out of breath.

 

"no, i've just had to run up the stairs for my phone because it was ringing," he lies easily, and michael's impressed because he's never known luke for being good at lying.

 

it must be a drastic situation, he thinks.

 

"you always have your phone with you, though," he can hear ashton's tinny voice through the mic on luke's phone.

 

"it was charging," luke adds a believable giggle at the end of the sentence while michael pretends to be busying himself running his fingertips over luke's hip.

 

"what'd you guys do last night?" ashton asks. 

 

"oh, nothing much, michael was being an asshole and moping about that stupid guy again."

 

michael nods.

 

"i forced him to cuddle with me," luke tells ashton.

 

he means to make ashton happy that michael's accepted affection in some form or fashion.

 

"that's... _good_ ," ashton's voice falters.

 

the last word is laced with what he detects as strain.

 

-

 

"so you don't love him?" asks michael later that night.

 

"i love him, just not the way... he wants me to," luke settles, eyes searching the ceiling.

 

"why are you still together?"

 

"because i like him. i admire him and i love his personality. he's just a good person. and he's stable."

 

michael processes luke's words for a moment. he decides to try to sleep. it shouldn't matter to him that the boy next to him is temporary, it should matter even less that luke is probably thinking about someone else, someone he can't even measure up to, right now. that's dismissed when luke kisses his shoulder, letting his head rest there.

 

"go to bed."

 

michael's passing out, eyes closed, and right before he goes falls off, he can feel luke smile fondly into his shirt.

 

-

 

it's dark again.

 

luke's fidgeting next to him, and he's being woken up by a hand shaking his shoulder. his brain lulls him back to sleep until luke whines, almost like a toddler,

 

"michael... i can't fall asleep."

 

michael's eyes are still shut but the soft brush of luke's fingertips on his back makes a lazy smile spread across his face, adjusting to lay down so his body curls around luke's.

 

"what's up?" he asks, voice scratchy.

 

luke squirms and pushes michael's arm down, slung around his waist and the curve of his ass while he turns to face the older boy.

 

"i can't sleep."

 

"i never would have guessed," michael mumbles, eyelids fluttering a bit until his eyes settle on luke's.

 

"who was your first?" luke asks.

 

michael's eyebrows draw together.

 

"first what?"

 

"first time."

 

"oh... _harry_ ," michael mumbles, cheeks flushing.

 

"how long were you two...?" luke trails off, eyes flicking down to where michael's started to stroke his hip.

 

"i don't think it was ever official, it went on basically from the start of the tour to the end," michael considers.

 

"yeah. he loved me, as if it would have helped anything," michael continues, throwing an arm over his face.

 

"i could tell."

 

michael's eyes shut.

 

"he meant a lot to you, didn't he?"

 

"sure. i mean, still does. harry sort of figured that i didn't- didn't..."

 

"love him back," luke finishes.

 

michael nods.

 

and luke's gaze stays locked on michael's chest, runs over across his fingers.

 

it sucks.

 

-

 

"did you guys manage to become friendly again?" calum asks as he hauls his bag in through the door hurriedly.

 

"yeah," michael nods.

 

 _is it friendly_? he wonders.

 

-

 

that night, he hears luke tell ashton, "welcome home, buttercup."

 

they're in the kitchen, just around the corner, and michael would kill to walk in there and act like he didn't care, or to rub in luke's face just how cheesy the nickname buttercup was, but he knows that if he sees luke kissing another boy, it'll ruin him for the second time that week. he can catch their tongues slipping past each other, the wet sounds of a quickly-heating make out session being stopped when ashton says, "what's up? what's wrong?"

 

michael knows that luke can see him, sitting on the counter and keeping his arms wrapped around the oldest boy's shoulders to keep him facing the other way, telling him in a sultry voice that makes michael's stomach twist, "shut up and fuck me."

 

but his eyes stay open as ashton pulls him closer, tightens even impossibly harder around luke's waist, sucking on his neck and making his way back up to his lips. luke keeps looking at michael with something between pity and guilt, mouth still working fast and hot with his boyfriend's.

 

"i love you," ashton says honestly against luke's mouth.

 

luke nods, and he repeats back the poisonous phrase, three syllables cutting michael's tear ducts to let them fall silently onto his cheeks. michael's still crying when luke locks eyes with him again, still crying when ashton throws his body back onto the counter, and he almost can't take his eyes off of luke.

 

almost.

 

-

 

he is a loser.

 

he is even more of a loser for crying about it.

 

michael thinks about this as he throws back the last shot of vodka, wanting to be drunk as quickly as possible so he has an excuse for coming home sobbing tonight and asking to be left alone so there's no question.

 

except, after he stumbles home from the bar that can't be farther than two blocks from the residence, michael throws a beer bottle at the side of the house and screams, "fuck you!" through his tears, sinking down to the grass and spluttering a bit, not knowing what to do, especially when calum opens the front door in a half-awake panic.

 

"jesus," he pants. "you look like utter shit."

 

the words muddle in michael's mind, his tongue thick until he stops thinking about things and gets up, wiping his face with the back of his palm and pushing past calum into the house, holding the wall to keep him upright. once he's stopped pausing in the hall to stare at his shoes and regain his composure, he goes to his room. on the way there, passing ashton's, he hears a soft laugh.

 

"i love you," luke giggles, turning the doorknob only to see michael staring directly at him from the other side, puffy lips, red eyes and messy hair.

 

"are you drunk?" luke asks michael, stepping forward with concern.

 

"not drunk enough," he mumbles, leaving.

 

-

 

"hey," luke says cautiously once calum and ashton have left for some family thing that their mums organized. he's in michael's room, which smells really bad and there are a ton of covers piled over michael's lumpy form, piling high to compete with the fan on its highest setting.

 

"cut the horseshit," michael snaps, voice gravelly from just waking up.

 

"i brought you some tea," luke retaliates weakly, feeling mostly guilty and pitiful because with just three words, michael's made luke feel like a terrible person, which is not necessarily _new_ , but is greatly acknowledged.

 

"go away," michael's voice raises with frustration.

 

luke knows he's actually about to start crying but he really doesn't want to get screamed at now, nor does he want to be treated shittier than he already is.

 

slamming the door shut with a sound like thunder reverberating through the hallway makes luke feel marginally better.

 

the angry sob coming from behind it does not.

 

-

 

luke drinks the tea.

 

he waits.

 

it's about an hour before michael opens the door. michael's face is cut into an expression that could be anything- blameworthiness, irritation, paranoia, gloom, dejection.

 

but that's the thing.

 

michael's heart has so many strings knifed off, so many to pull that if you pick the wrong one, he'll take months to get the bitter taste of other people's words out of his mouth.

 

to say he feel things deeper than anyone else would be an extreme understatement.

 

and so when he sees luke sitting outside of the door looking up at him with his fingers tapping against the wood, his eyes change from a dark, stormy green to a transluscent teal, paling in time with the blood under his cheeks, neck, and chest.

 

"michael."

 

" _michael_ ," luke says louder when the older boy's eyelids fall and he sits adjacent to the blonde.

 

"you trust me, right?" michael asks, the words catching at the end on his bloody, bitten lips, every syllable drowned out in raw skin and metallic touches of crimson on his tongue.

 

luke nods.

 

michael sits down.

 

he apologizes.

 

when luke kisses him, the color rushes back to michael's skin.

 

-

 

"i like your hair wet," luke tells michael timidly.

 

he's still testing the waters this time, trying not to jump in the deep end and coming up with chlorine burning his lungs. except this exactly applies to him, because they're in the pool.

 

sort of.

 

it's heated.

 

"i like my dick wet," calum shouts, startling the two boys from their calm wading on the steps.

 

"jesus- _fuck_ , calum," michael mumbles, turning to glare at the dark haired boy but catching his mischievous grin, frown dissolving into a doting smile, just appropriate enough for two guys who've known each other forever.

 

"where's ashton?" he continues.

 

calum rolls his eyes.

 

"watching bo burnham."

 

michael cringes.  _again_?

 

"you should join him," calum says to no one in particular, but it's obviously aimed towards luke.

 

and since it would be weird for him to say no, that he wants to stay with michael, he joins ashton.

 

michael lets himself sink to the bottom of the steaming water.

 

-

 

calum nudges michael. michael grins, smiling at the store. if he's honest with himself, comics interest him as much as girls do. they're nearly the same thing- confusing, pretty, and glossy on the outside.

 

he's lost his thing for both, but to keep up his façade, michael goes inside, tuning his grin to be just the type of believable calum fell for.

 

they walk around for a few and ditch, michael pretends he leaves his credit card at the house, and though calum offers his up, he wants to get out of there.

 

he saw a comic that luke once read to him a few years back in the clearance section.

 

-

 

"michael won't leave his room," ashton says.

 

luke doesn't have to ask. ashton keeps speaking.

 

"he's on another art streak; hasn't slept in about half a week and hasn't eaten for longer."

 

"did you go in?" ashton pauses.

 

"no."

 

luke decides he will.

 

-

 

he's glad he did.

 

because _god_ , this is something you only ever see in movies. michael's hunched over the window ledge, the january wind fluttering his pages ( _which doesn't seem to faze him_ ) as he quickly outlines his surroundings, the sky and birds and the vibrancy of everything around him.

 

the room is another story.

 

what have to be at the very least a hundred pages are scattered across the floor and the bed, on the desk and under chair legs.

 

they're all beautiful, made with watercolors and acrylics and oil pastels and pencils depicting eyes, lips, sunlight and faeries, rushing rivers and blurred hands covering sharp faces. he wonders how many pills are stashed between michael's mattresses, how much vodka it took to re-break the hollow bones in himself.

 

how hard it was to tear down a guard this high.

 

"draw me," luke says.

 

michael turns, pen pushed behind his ear and paints smeared on his cheeks, fingertips stained from the unforgiving dyes.

 

"i have," michael answers.

 

"where?" luke can't find any visible paper with any drawing or painting that could moderately look like his face.

 

the closest he gets is blue eyes, about five different sketches with the irises filled in. one wide open, the other red-rimmed and exhausted, the next resting normally with the lids slightly squinting, the fourth casted down, and finally the last was a pair of the same eyes shut, pulled soft and tired.

 

"are these?" luke asks, words escaping him as he smudges the lashes on the last sketch, thick charcoal rubbing off on his fingertips. "me?"

 

michael sighs and drops the sketchbook on the floor.

 

"all of them," he tells luke, scratching his arm with the other hand. "all of them are about you."

 

michael steps forward and strokes his thumb down luke's brow to his jaw.

 

"i didn't mean for there to be feelings," luke laughs, looking up at the ceiling so his tears seem less prominent. michael doesn't have to say anything in order for luke to know there always have been.

 

and of course, it's michael who unbuttons luke's jeans and wraps a hand around his cock, the moan breathed warm under his ear reminding him that luke already has someone else's hickeys on his neck.

 

-

 

luke remembers michael and harry. they seemed... perfect for each other. michael seemed too young. too small, too vulnerable in harry's arms, but luke wasn't worried.

 

he saw how the older boy treated michael; hasn't forgotten the way that he used to drag his long fingers up michael's sides and into his hair when they would kiss.

 

the sex is what really stuck out.

 

harry would sneak into michael's room, and if he thought he was loud, he hadn't known loud until he heard michael disrupting him from his sleep with his screams and cries, the begging and moaning for anything harry could give him. it shouldn't have been a surprise when harry started marking michael up- his chest, stomach, hips, thighs, the underside of his arms.

 

michael's lips would be split and bruised, purplish red from nights before, blush spreading across his front whenever calum would tease. the worst was when he saw rope burns on michael's wrists and scratches down his back.

 

that's when reality became... _reality_.

 

luke would wonder if ashton and him didn't date, whether harry would have gone for him, or still wrapped michael around his finger the minute he saw him.

 

it wasn't likely, since harry had a thing for guys who were- different. michael fit so well, with his dark hair that contrasted his skin and eyes that seemed like a bottomless pit of green and silver and blue, struck anyone who looked into them.

 

the week after they met, luke caught them making out against a wall with michael's legs wrapped around harry's waist. sure, ashton liked a bit of pda, but michael and harry had absolutely no shame. during soundcheck harry would run in, having a bit of fun and making mischief before he'd lean over and give michael a kiss, a giggle from the younger's mouth following before things would turn from playful to forceful, the two licking hot and slow into the other's mouths with only a guitar keeping harry from fucking michael on top of the sound equipment. the only thing that kept it from being hellish was the fact that harry was nice, and he made michael happy, and if michael overshared on that night's activities, he couldn't say he minded.

 

-

 

**_[age sixteen]_ **

 

"do you want... do you want to have sex?"

 

luke turned his head and looked at ashton, who was sitting on the other side against the headboard.

 

"why?"

 

ashton looked at him. "haven't you thought about... you know. me putting my dick in you."

 

luke nodded.

 

"do you want me to? right now?" ashton asked, rubbing his thumb over luke's forehead.

 

luke nodded again.

 

"you know i haven't before."

 

"i'll be gentle."

 

luke seems wary, wants to go back to sleep until ashton pulls him up by the arm and whispers, "i promise."

 

-

 

after the handjob, after luke comes all over michael's knuckles and bites down on his t-shirt, michael mixes a shade matching luke's skin and paints wet over the dark lovebite.

 

-

 

michael is sitting in the bathtub.

 

the soap he uses rubs the skin of his knees raw with resists with every push, irritation looks like an angry red frown on his legs.

 

his hair is pushed back and the bathwater sloshes against the lip of the blue porcelain, dribbling over the edge onto the tiles wet with condensation. bubbles from his shampoo form between his fingers, spreading with dappled colors shining around the metallic circumference popping up to the surface when he sinks his thighs into the sudsy water, hands protecting the chafed surface.

 

it doesn't work.

 

it stings anyways.

 

-

 

ashton's drunk; so is luke. luke's all over ashton, slicking saliva-dripping kisses all over his chest and face, holding ashton's arms down with force.

 

michael keeps the mood lighthearted, "keep the boners to a minimum," he laughs, reminding himself that they are intoxicated. all of them smell like whiskey, "some of us more than others," calum adds as a joke that turns out more serious than funny, gesturing to michael who fucking reeks of it, always carries the stench of overpriced liquor on his skin, sticking to his surface like sweaty arms in leather jackets.

 

his mind feels light, light in the bad way like getting dizzy in a hot shower and passing out on your bedroom floor.

 

michael pats calum's head and leaves out of the club, ignoring the few drunk girls who attempt to make advances.

 

-

 

michael's lying on the floor.

 

the speakers in his room are at the highest volume, and he doesn't really care what's coming out of it, but he really _does_ , since he'd wallow and cry in a more proper manner with sad indie-emo bands sobbing out their gloomy lyrics.

 

he hasn't exactly left the house in a while besides to write, it's bad even then. he'll halfway make an effort and put on a clean pair of sweats, maybe a hoodie over his shirt.

 

it's torturous, moping quietly in an empty vicinity and having to get ready to get paid for moping quietly in an empty vicinity; the production company's nice enough to let him go when he needs to, gripping his paper and pen tightly in his hand as he makes his way to the rooftop, feeling the wind brush on his face.

 

michael loves the rooftop and he also hates it, it's just a slab of concrete with a fire escape.

 

it looks beautiful at night, but every time he goes up the realization that he is alone and writing music about how fucking depressed he is due to being alone is devastating and he sometimes needs to cry it out before telling himself that jumping is not an option.

 

it's gotten dark and the lights outside illuminate his room; michael just wants to be held and he wants someone to want him.

 

everything is utterly devastating and drugs are probably not a good idea, they help him avoid it but he's never been one to want to forget how he feels, just one to make himself do so. sure, he'd drink but he's begun to notice that getting wasted has consequences, for instance: once, michael was fourteen and stole a bottle of grey goose from his parents to drink at a party. michael could barely tell himself to not make out with the blonde, as ashton was still skinny but had much more mass than michael and liked luke very much, enough so to play seven minutes in heaven with him and ask him out in the closet. michael heard, then sulked for ten days straight. feelings got messy when michael had alcohol, and it was just his luck that he had a taste for it.

 

-

 

"what's the worst thing you do regularly? like.... the worst thing," ashton asks michael. calum wouldn't be the one to question, since they'd known one another for ages, and luke had been clinging to the eldest boy for a few hours.

 

luke had no other interest than teasing ashton, calum and michael were far from oblivious.

 

"i jack off and cry at the same time," michael says.

 

he knows it's probably weird, because while he's fucking his hand he'll keep sobbing into his pillow and moan.

 

"do you start crying when you do it or are you crying already?" calum asks.

 

michael shrugs. "i'm usually already crying when i jack off. but it's not like, regularly. i masturbate without crying, or sometimes i'll be crying and start jacking off or when like, i jack off i'll start crying."

 

"why do you cry after you start?" luke questions curiously. this conversation is nothing surprising for them.

 

"dunno. probably because it's really good, y'know how sometimes you cum and it's so great that they sort of prick at the sides of your eyes. or i'm just sad and while i'm jacking off i'll start crying," michael explains, tugging on the hairs at the nape of his neck.

 

calum laughs.

 

-

 

"that's pretty cool of you," michael says appreciatively.

 

he's dragging himself out of bed now purely to see the look on their faces when he shoves ripped-out notebook pages into their hands full of song lyrics that will probably become some more in the "rejected" pile due to the horribly overwhelming emotion embedded in the chicken scratch writing; they're a pop band, not an overly-done angsty teen-appealing version of death cab.

 

ashton's bought them all little trinkets, afterthoughts in the product of a shopping spree. michael's got a spiderman-gummy-bear-shaped keychain.

 

"thanks," he adds.

 

-

 

michael's sick of asking himself what the point is in puking almost every day over a stupid crush. he knows it's not just a stupid crush, but he loves dumbing it down and sugaring it up for the logical side of his brain, breaking it apart from all those complicated pieces that tend to muck up the situation and fuck him over whenever he lays eyes on luke.

 

the conclusion is like this: there is no point.

 

there is not a _single fucking reason_ michael can come up with to have anything to do with luke besides business.

 

yet, he's still listening to the old cd's he and luke used to make together in year nine, skipping past track five to try to hold himself together; ocean avenue by yellowcard fits too well, better than sum 41 would.

 

-

 

"this is getting frustrating," luke admits to him, one night where either calum and ashton are doing some hardcore dude-ly stuff or visiting people.

 

"i know," michael laughs; his voice is always strained now from crying and screaming into his sheets and his eyes are still red-rimmed. the bags under them are so dark he looks like he's been punched in the face.

 

twice.

 

"i know you can't help it with ashton," michael tells luke.

 

he's not lying.

 

luke stays still, edging carefully near michael's legs dangling off the side of the bed. "i still like you."

 

"i like you too. but... you know. it's harder to sneak around when you're both living in the same house."

 

"tell me about it. calum keeps throwing out my fucking scotch," michael supplies, bringing a laugh from luke's mouth.

 

it's not really funny.

 

what else isn't funny is how their arms bump and luke takes that as his cue, the cue to climb onto michael's lap. that being said, michael's got no problem with luke on his lap, but his heart rate is off the fucking charts right now, luke's hands on either side of his head and god, they're doing this again. it's been weeks and _fuck_ , nearly two months of it happening and michael's so flustered, chest heaving.

 

"i want to have sex with you."

 

michael's breathless, responding with, "we've been having sex."

 

"not real sex."

 

that's such a slap in the face.

 

michael could care fucking less.

 

michael's gotten to the point where he's a doormat; a juxtaposition of what he acted like when being an asshole was his instinct, a habitual reflex. luke's pushing michael's hair back, looking into his eyes.

 

"i really like you, michael."

 

"i can't-," michael's trying to speak while luke's pure, clear eyes are burning into him.

 

it hardly works.

 

"i'll fuck you."

 

-

 

luke's looking at him the same way, it's déjà vu too soon. luke's lying on his side, mile-long legs wrapped tightly around michael's waist. he can't stop looking at michael, and michael feels fucking uncomfortable because he just wants to screw luke and make him fucking cry. in the way he sobs when he comes, or maybe the way he cries when he's sad. michael wants to give luke payback, but he also loves luke so much he just wants to make sure luke can tell. luke's always been sort of blind like that.

 

michael's breath comes faster as his cock ruts against luke's thigh. luke puts his head near michael's, rubbing his cheek against michael's.

 

"you can go in," he says with a sort of nervous edge.

 

he grabs michael's hand, rubbing his thumb across the palm. michael shuts his eyes, gripping luke's hair as he pushes in.

 

luke chokes on his breath.

 

they kiss. it's not like a movie when they kiss; there will never be any music when they kiss.

 

every fucking touch burns michael's mouth, the fleeting feel of luke's tongue laying flat against michael's closed lips, it's probably uncomfortable for luke too, but his hands are wrapping around his own cock and michael feels fucking guilty.

 

michael's head is spinning and he can feel a migraine coming on, this kind of throb behind his eyebrow is unnatural and foreign and it's probably because his cock encounters a tight clench and he's not even fully in, a reminder that the sex isn't only for him.

 

it might be a pity fuck, but luke's enjoyed it so far, and michael will take anything he can get so long as ashton, calum, and their friends stay at the santa monica beach.

 

"are you having fun?" michael asks breathily, trying to have thought up something better in his head as he pushes luke's hand to his chest and grasps his cock, shifting his hips forward and pulling luke closer.

 

it's hard for him to be participating in brain activity with this wonderful blonde whose face is reddening and breath is coming faster.

 

"never- never taken someone this big," luke laughs with a shakiness definitely underlying in his tone.

 

the older rolls luke onto his back, lifting a leg up onto michael's shoulders. michael fucks himself in the last inch and luke doesn't even bother suppressing the noises; his head slams against the pillow and he cries out with a sob wedging itself into his voice when it cracks halfway in between.

 

michael's trying to keep his ego and his cock calm; his forehead is sweaty already and he wraps his hand around luke's shaft, the slick pre-cum dribbling out pathetically when his palm brushes over the base.

 

"need me?" michael asks in the same tone as luke, lacking all sorts of confidence and edging into a stutter.

 

luke nods. "i thought we'd never do it."

 

michael barely controls his laughter at luke for censoring out "fuck" in favor for a term outdated since primary school, mostly because the heat between their bodies is making him lightheaded and the pants leaving luke short of breath are just pushing him closer.

 

"tell me when," michael says, dropping his head down and carding his fingers through luke's hair.

 

"now," luke breathes out through his nose. "jesus."

 

michael would be delusional or dying to use the term lovemaking, but that's exactly what he wants to do with luke, but since that is a couples thing, he pushes aside his emotions and tells luke, "i'm taking my anger out on you," and pins him down with an elbow on his chest.

 

luke's eyes blow out a little right before he nods and his fingers latch around michael's wrist pressing into his shoulder, the irises thinning as his breath rate quickens.

 

it's nice, michael thinks, to go slow, because luke gets all flustered.

 

but he starts off at a leisurely pace and quickly feels his patience starting to wear off, sure, luke feels amazing but he just wants to fuck flush against his hips, just wants to make luke scream and cry.

 

he wants luke to fucking cry.

 

michael's back at square one.

 

michael can feel luke's body tense as he starts driving relentlessly into luke, the calescence taking over his skin, sweat dripping down his face and tainting luke's cool, clammy stomach. it takes so much out of him, but _god_ , michael doubts that it matters when luke's making these miserable pleasure-laced whimpers and saying his name over and over as if it's worth more than his own five cents to put in.

 

it makes his head spin, the notion that he's fucking luke and it feels like trying vodka for the first time, it's fucking bitter and it burns all the way down your throat but the feeling in your stomach isn't something you can ignore, and yeah, luke's the strong alcohol michael drowns himself in.

 

his chest is all tight, the way it gets when he cries too much or he doesn't cry enough. they're both looking each other in the eyes now, it's too intimate for michael and he wishes he could look anywhere else, wishes this was "just a fuck" like he'd promised.

 

it's overwhelming, he's about to have an anxiety attack and he's so frustrated and he just goes harder, pulling luke's head back by the hair, licking a stripe up his neck. michael's so fucking mad he makes out with luke while he fucks him, and it's just lips smashing and he couldn't ask for a better friend to make out with, couldn't ask for a better guy to have sex with platonically, michael could never ask for anything more.

 

luke mumbles a little, "ashton's never this good," between his and michael's groans and whines, it feels like a victory but it crumbles just as soon as he realizes even the best sex luke's had still makes him think of ashton.

 

michael pins luke down harder, and poor luke can hardly breathe but fuck, that's not important, he just needs to come. after a few minutes of clinging with his hands around michael's neck and puts a leg around michael's waist, fucking michael's fist in a daydream-y state, his eyes are fluttering and his back is arching.

 

that's what kind of sex luke wants, michael guesses.

 

mindless sex.

 

it's clear what both of them want, luke's cum stripes over his and michael's stomach with a whiny moan of his name and mumbled profanity; it's just too much for michael to handle and now he's not holding back, pulling out and jacking himself off onto luke's cock, the trembling in his hand as he reaches the height of his climax, his eyes squeezing shut with a few incoherent chokes and moans that his brain can't register while luke looks up with him with his eyes all wide and red-rimmed.

 

-

 

"i thought of you a lot when i whacked it to taking back sunday in year nine," luke says sleepily, his hair mussed and soft.

 

it brushes against michael's nose.

 

michael laughs a little, 'cause even though he pretended to hate luke for the excuse of talking to him more often, he'd had some accidents regarding working himself up and cumming in his jeans.

 

"me too."

 

-

 

jack calls.

 

michael answers.

 

-

 

now, jack and michael had gone down on each other a few times, michael to jack more often than not, and jack had taken michael out, and maybe they got wrapped up in each other while taking xanax a couple times, and they'd had really great times and it was one of those awkwardly long flings that no one else had known about.

 

in the end, jack got all weird, and michael seemed a little too eager to make him feel good anyways, naïvely so, but he'd told michael, "you were a great hookup," then disappeared for a month.

 

and sure, they got over whatever it was, and sure, jack got needy sometimes and pretended he hadn't crushed michael's foolish little heart, michael could live with it because he admitted to himself that harry had probably set himself up for disaster sugaring michael with expensive things and sweet words.

 

sure, michael could have handled cruelty, but this kind of no-strings-attached thing wasn't on his list of street logic, he wasn't smart enough to figure out how to detach himself from the concrete emotions that burnt like asphalt on hot days in miami, windows open and bees stinging his arms.

 

they talk for a while, and jack hints at wanting to "just get his ass over to try this new supply of laced pot that i've scored from some coked-out member of a warped-junkie band"; they play the guessing game through hit punk songs, michael loses.

 

eventually, the undertone becomes painfully clear, and he misses being able to take an über over to jack's and get fucked all drugged up and feel hot, feel wanted under jack's slippery hands that would slide under his thighs in the shower.

 

and yeah, it was easier for them to turn to each other rather than go pine over their bandmates; jack had been so desperate at first, confessing to michael about how he'd been experimenting with alex between the blossoming of their friendship and senior year. it had all been too much to take in, and michael was generally okay at comforting people, so he had a couple words to say to jack but that all went to a blank slate when jack, stressed-looking and red-cheeked, pressed his lips to michael's; his hands were squeezing michael's arm so hard that the circulation was edging on cutting off with the fast-paced, frantic kisses that jack pulled him into.

 

"god, i just- just fucking want you," jack had voiced.

 

that was michael's wet dream, cliché as it may have been. the guy who he'd first properly came to, fucking up into his fist while looking at his all time low screensaver and whining into the pillow with want and imagining, by some sort of miracle, the idea of sloppily making out with jack.

 

here it was, this dark-eyed man biting down on his bottom lip hard enough for michael's breath to hitch. it was so overwhelming, jack's fingers and mouth everywhere with chapped, cold lips and a rough, untrained tongue that was foreign from his other kisses, the partners he'd had before were slower and soft but jack was straightforward with his mouth, both hands at the sides of his face.

 

the first time jack and michael had sex, they both cried.

 

-

 

michael's breath is trembling and he's trying to keep it down, keep everything down really; the vomit rising in his throat and his silent little chokes on his own tears are both threatening to spill out and make some unwanted noise; he's gone through his voicemails and gone all the way back to a few years ago.

 

it's luke's voice sounding crackly from his breathing-too-close and he's telling michael "i'll be there, please promise me you won't drink anymore," and it's just too much.

 

michael's nails scrape deep against the back of his neck.

 

michael needs someone.

 

he needs luke like luke needs ashton, and everything is so horribly complicated and he needs someone. it's always been this way, fighting to find a temporary solution to his inevitable loneliness.

 

it could be people, it could be vodka, it could be drawing shit that didn't mean more than the dirt under his shoes to anyone else, it could be the cold air of the winter cutting against his bare shoulders.

 

he wants to leave just to get himself together, but he's not very together as things go; he's glad that he can have mental breakdowns in his room alone without anyone being home to hear him slamming his fist against the walls.

 

this time, he's not by himself, a funny thought to have since he feels so devastatingly alone right now, but everyone is outside and michael is supposed to be sleeping due to a migraine. he wasn't lying on the migraine, the ache is making michael's body overheat with a terribly rapid pace, the loud music playing is shaking the house and michael doesn't even know why he's panicking.

 

-

 

luke's done a few things in the past couple of days and been out with the others, today he's stayed back and when luke climbs on top of michael he doesn't even try to somewhat tell himself it's going to end soon.

 

luke starts kissing him, and it's melancholic, like being homesick, because this is sort of his home, not the house itself or his bed that smells too much like him and not like two people, but with luke.

 

he'd always felt better with luke, sleeping together on the couch waking up sweaty during summers after movie nights; everywhere luke is touching him it feels like a burn without the hot sting, just the dulling, digging simple knowledge that there is something making his skin melt.

 

whenever this happens it's disgustingly familiar, michael has his arms wrapped around luke's middle.

 

he can feel rocks hollowing out the pit of his stomach and he can feel the cold air biting his arms. michael is holding luke like it's the last time- may very well be, as luke's just sitting there, forehead resting on the wall behind michael.

 

"i'm sorry," michael says guiltily.

 

he's grown accustomed to blaming himself and his feelings.

 

"don't be," luke says into the wall. michael sort of sighs, as best he can with a boy sitting on top of him.

 

"i'm used to it."

 

luke tenses, then leaves.

 

-

 

january passes and february hits him like a freight train. he makes the obligatory "happy birthday!" phone call to harry, then turns down the birthday sex offered from the drunk-ish boy.

 

harry makes a whiny sound, but michael just clarifies he has a ride home and a charged phone.

 

it's cool.

 

everything's always cool.

 

the impending hatred towards valentine's day grows as the day comes nearer. the night of, michael has another bad night and sits silently in bed letting the tight feeling rising and receding in his chest like waves crashing under cliffs swallows him, it's dark and he swears he sees something in the black expanse between his bedroom and the window.

 

it doesn't matter.

 

he has an old song stuck on loop in his head and it reminds him of luke. everything reminds him of luke.

 

it's fucked.

 

everything is fucked.

 

the sun reminds him of luke, the trees remind him of luke, his bed reminds him of luke, the sheets still smell like him, the moon is streaming in through his window and it's reminding him of luke and he's so happy he lives in a place where nobody gives a shit about the stars because the smog covers them, that's what reminds him of luke the most.

 

he can taste the cheap chocolate turning stale in his mouth after the gradual sink of consciousness into his veins dropped, the ending of a dream he doesn't want to remember occurring far too soon to be enjoyed.

 

michael feels a little more than down, if this was a cult movie he would be having an epiphany or going out to kill teenagers for an audience-healthy solution, but somehow the reality of his solitude is too much for even him to handle.

 

reality is gruesome and has a rotting face, crudely formed features sporting gnarled hands with dirty nails scraping out gray matter from the inside of his skull.

 

everything feels like nothing.

 

this is the reverse of feeling, so much of it contained that it whirls inside of his ribcage with every breath and sob into his pillow, it overwhelms him in his middle with every inhale and the rush of it going out loses its way and floods his head.

 

-

 

michael goes downstairs and sees ashton sleeping on the couch.

 

like an idiot, he shakes him awake. "why are you here?"

 

ashton rubs his eyes and tugs his covers up higher.

 

"me and luke are fighting."

 

"he's alone up there?" michael asks.

 

he's angry.  _shit_ , he's fucking angry.

 

"why would you leave him up there alone? are you fucking stupid?" ashton seems a little taken aback, then again, it is the middle of the night, and michael looks extremely rough in the mirror that reflects the display of his face to his own eyes.

 

his hair's everywhere and his face is blotchy with scratch marks down one side and tear tracks down the other.

 

"michael... are you okay?" ashton questions, gripping his hand in a gesture only recognized as familial concern.

 

"i'm fine!" he half-shouts, then takes a deep breath when seeing ashton sort of jump. "i'm fine."

 

"go to luke and tell him you're fucking sorry for whatever you did. nobody likes sleeping alone," michael tells ashton, then pushes him up the stairs, and take's ashton's place on the couch.

 

-

 

ashton shuts the door to their room, looking strangely at luke sitting at the desk, holding a lighter in one hand and a paper in the other.

 

"what are you doing?" he asks.

 

"nothing," luke replies, running his thumb down the metal of the old lighter and watches the short letter curl and burn with the flick of bluish flame, the words "michael, i love you too," weakened to bitter ash with a smell that falls like a dead weight to the bottom of his lungs.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hoped you liked this! i spent a lot of time on it so please leave kudos/comments :)


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